


Cor aut mors

by 1863



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Competency, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: Kirill's job is to see things other people don't, to be prepared for things that other people don't expect. That this particular thing has nothing to do with security makes no difference at all.





	Cor aut mors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: 100 words of thinking a loved one is dead.

Avi's eyes are icier than Kirill has ever seen them, but his voice is even colder.

"What do you mean, he didn't come back?"

Boreyev glances at Kirill and nervously licks his lips. Kirill gives him nothing, however, and simply stares back, face expressionless, as Avi waits for an answer. Avi may not be Russian, he may not even know how to use a gun properly, but this is unquestionably Avi's show to run. Kirill knows that, and soon enough Boreyev will, too. Whether or not he learns it through force is something Kirill refuses to influence. Not until Avi asks him to, anyway. 

"He didn't come back," Boreyev says again. "He went to the bathroom and didn't come out, and when we went to check on him, he was gone. And –"

Avi takes a step closer. Boreyev flinches.

"Yes?" Avi's voice is very quiet.

Boreyev’s face has gone pale and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and really, Kirill can’t blame him for it. There's a stillness to Avi that reminds him of snipers just before they fire, of snakes before they strike, and anyone with the most basic instinct for survival would be able to feel the prickle of danger in the air.

"Th–there was blood on the floor," Boreyev stammers. "And on – on the walls."

Avi closes his eyes and takes a long, slow breath.

"I see."

He opens his eyes again and stares at Boreyev with a look of such contempt that it rivals what even Viggo was capable of.

"You'll be on the front line for the strike team to get him back," Avi says. "If you survive…" He trails off and smiles, and at this even Kirill almost shivers, because it's the smile of the most dangerous kind of man – the kind with nothing left to lose. "You might wish you hadn’t."

Avi dismisses Boreyev shortly after that, but asks Kirill to stay behind. He lights a cigarette and stares at the burning end for a few seconds before taking a deep, heavy drag.

"Say what you want to say, Kirill."

"It's unlikely he's still alive.” Kirill pauses, choosing his next words with care. “It may be wise to... prepare yourself.”

Avi has proven himself to be unafraid of the truth, no matter what the cost, and it's something Kirill has come to respect. Still, these are – unusual circumstances, and while he would rather put a bullet in his own head before acknowledging anything that could damage the Tarasov reputation, Kirill is not an unsympathetic man.

He is, above all else, a professional. His duty is to see things other people don't, to be prepared for things that other people don't expect. That this particular thing has nothing to do with security – and everything to do with matters he should not be privy to and will never, ever admit to knowing – makes no difference at all. Kirill has seen it, and Avi knows he's seen it, and Kirill will not dishonour either of them with lies.

He watches Avi rub his temple, watches him briefly close his eyes. There's only the slightest tremor in Avi’s hands but it speaks volumes, and Kirill wonders if perhaps he should have softened the blow after all. But then Avi straightens, and his voice is as steady as Kirill’s aim with a gun. Or a knife, or anything else he has to use.

"You'll lead the strike team,” Avi says. 

An order, not a request. Kirill's respect for him goes up by several more degrees. 

"Of course, sir."

Avi’s gaze sharpens at the use of the title. It's not something Kirill does lightly.

"You’ll bring him back," Avi adds. The words are clipped, forced out through a tight jaw and a dry throat. "Even if it's just a body."

"Understood."

Avi eyes him in silence for a moment. "Is there anything else you want to say?" His mouth twists; a grim approximation of a smile. "Nothing’s off limits."

If it's a test, it's an unnecessary one. Kirill's job is to protect the boss and anyone else the boss deems worthy of protection. It's not his job to question why.

"You should stay behind," he says instead.

Avi's smile widens a little, hearing all the things that Kirill doesn't need to say. Not about the danger – that's obvious enough. It's the other things, the things about blood and flesh and bone, about the visceral, gory heart of the world they live in – those are the things Kirill is really warning him about. The things that outsiders like Avi – and he is still an outsider, everything else notwithstanding – often fail to understand, seeing only the money and the power and not the piles of rotting corpses they were built upon. 

But Avi has been here a long time, and if he was ever that naive he was cured of it years ago. Kirill knows that Viggo would not have kept him around, or so close, had Avi not been willing to face the blood-soaked consequences of the lives they lead.

"Where else would I go?" Avi asks eventually. He takes another drag, the tremor in his fingers noticeably stronger now. A crack in the mask, Kirill thinks, but it’s one that Kirill can't fault him for. "I'm just a lawyer, after all."

"Our lawyer," Kirill corrects. Avi blinks, a trace of surprise in his eyes. "Your position," he adds slowly, "is not in doubt. Whatever happens."

"Whatever happens," Avi repeats. He laughs a little, almost derisive. "It's like quicksand, isn't it? Easy to fall into, but a bitch to get out of."

Kirill doesn't ask if he's talking about the mob or something else altogether. Either way, it changes nothing.

"I'll get it done," he says.

Avi nods. "I know you will."

Kirill takes that as his cue to leave. He's nearly out the door when Avi speaks again, although his voice is so quiet that Kirill almost doesn't catch it.

"Kirill?"

“Yes, sir?"

"Don't hold back." Avi's eyes go cold again. "Whatever you need to do… whatever it is, just do it. I'll clean up the mess."

Kirill nods, just as Avi had done, and replies with just as much certainty as Avi had replied to him. 

"Yes, sir," he says again. "I know you will."

***

It's a massacre, but Kirill is as good as his word.

He delivers Viggo to Avi later that night, safe if not exactly sound.

The boss says nothing about what happened to him, but the ugly, twisted cuts, the trails of crusting cigarette burns, the missing tooth and the swollen, black eye – everyone knows what all of that means. Everyone, including Avi.

"C'mere," Avi mutters, helping Viggo onto the couch. His touch is unhesitating but still carefully controlled, a thousand things contained in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands barely skim Viggo's waist. "Do you need the doc–"

"No.” Viggo’s voice is hoarse and Avi goes still, the look on his face making it clear he knows what that means, too. "Kirill took care of anything urgent. The rest can wait until tomorrow."

"You talking about the injuries or taking revenge?"

Viggo manages a small smile.

"Both," he replies. "Although Kirill has made an excellent start on the latter already."

Avi glances over at that. Kirill hadn't paused to clean himself up before taking Viggo home; his skin and clothes and hair are still stained and sticky with things he doesn't care to think about. They share a look and for a brief moment, the gratitude in Avi's eyes is so clear that Kirill breaks protocol and allows himself one tiny, barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement. 

"Didn't doubt him for a second," Avi says. He crouches down in front of Viggo, gaze roaming all over his battered face, his bruised skin, the rips in his blood-splattered shirt.

"It seems I taught you well," Viggo observes. Avi swallows.

"Yeah," he says, and now he sounds just as hoarse as Viggo does. Avi looks torn for a moment, then rests his palms on Viggo's knees. "Good thing too, or else –"

"No 'or else'," Viggo interrupts. All things considered, the note of gentleness in his voice is not entirely unexpected, but the lack of hesitation at allowing it to be heard definitely is. Kirill eyes the door. These are private things, things no one should be witness to, regardless of who those things were happening between. 

"What's done is done," Viggo adds. "And what's to come is to come."

"What, you mean like fate?" Avi asks. He sounds a little sarcastic but the smile on his face is more genuine than any he's given all day.

Viggo reaches out and clasps his shoulder.

"Perhaps," he replies. His hand moves, slowly creeping up until his fingers brush the nape of Avi's neck. "Stranger things have happened."

Or not so strange, Kirill thinks, as Avi just barely leans into the touch. Not anymore.

Kirill slips away unnoticed, as silent as if he were still on a mission. He shuts the door behind him before finding a relatively clean corner of his shirt, and uses it to wipe the worst of the muck off his face. Then he straightens his jacket and rolls his shoulders and gets into position.

It's been a long night already, but Kirill still has a job to do. He'll stand guard for as long as he needs to.


End file.
